


Taken In

by planningconquest



Series: Tired Agents [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Flirting, Luke gets fitted for a flight suit., M/M, Spy - Freeform, long suffering imperial agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-09
Updated: 2017-03-09
Packaged: 2018-10-01 17:29:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10195043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/planningconquest/pseuds/planningconquest
Summary: Luke Skywalker gets his flight suit fitted.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Saoirse_Aisling](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Saoirse_Aisling), [anakien](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anakien/gifts), [jerseydevious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jerseydevious/gifts).



> My answer to why Vader has whole closets of clothes fitted perfectly for Luke whenever he captures him in various fics.

There had to be reason that Imperial Intelligence Officer, not connected to the simmering sarlacc pit that served as the ISB, Mol Beddfe was currently measuring the exactly length of Luke Skywalker’s boots. It couldn’t have been the near demotion that had come with inadvertently submitting details of three different admiral’s affairs to the Hub. Or the fact that he’d uncovered four embezzlers by four different commanding officers at two separate postings. It could have been the fact that Mol Beddfe was married to a popular HoloNet star most of the Imperial Court wanted to seduce and this was their way of getting rid of him to make the faithful man available. Though, the last one was mostly untrue. He’d been transferred to Lord Vader’s ship. That was probably the attempt to get rid of him. 

Mol had accidently impressed the man. It wasn’t his fault, really. His job was snooping. He made it his career. He saw patterns, could do the math, deduce the facts and implications. One of the reasons his previous commanders had hated them. One week into a base and he knew who was bedding who. Who had the last of the desert in the break room. Who didn’t make the new pot of caf. Who left the refresher stinking. Mol could pick it up and sort it out and when he mined for data he could come up with a whole shipload of crimes and secrets people wanted to hide. 

Still, impressing Vader had been an accident that had resulted in this new posting. On some force-forsaken hell-hole that served as the new rebel base. It was a swampy mess that reeked of dead meat and unwashed socks. Mol had a newfound hatred for the Rouge Squadron after having been the victim to the endless pranks and teasing the others thought they could get away with. 

The only one abstaining was Skywalker. 

Speaking of Skywalker. 

“Peb?” The short rebel pilot was standing to the doorway to the room, puzzled. His oversized flight suit was tied off around his waist and his white shirt was soaked through with seat. “What are you doing here?”

“Hiding from Wes and Hobbie and Wedge.” Mol reported truthfully. He set Skywalker's boot back down. The imprint on the inside did not equal the boots actual size. Skywalker was stuffing the front of his boots with flimsi and socks to make them fit. “I thought they might not look in here.” 

“Good idea.” Skywalker said, “they’re on refresher cleaning duty right now so don’t worry about them tonight.” 

“Really? What’d they do?”

“Someone set a trap for someone else.” The bright blue eyes peered meaningfully at him through the dimness of the room. “And Leia got caught in it.” 

“Oh dear.” Mol shook his head. “They’re lucky she didn’t have them lined up and shot.”

“Considering how she was yelling they looked like they wished it would happen.” Luke chuckled. “I think Hobbie started crying a bit.” 

“Rancor tears.” Mol blurted, “Don’t ever pity that man. He’s purebred sithspawn.” The cheerful chuckle that followed his pronouncement almost made him pity the kid. Vader had his sights set on Skywalker and this sort of levity just didn’t exist in an Imperial prison. “You know, I could tailor that flightsuit for you, if you wanted.”

“What?” Luke paused in the middle of leaning down to untie his boots.

“I know a thing or two about sewing.” Mol gestured helplessly to the too-large flightsuit hanging off the kid. “I’ll fix it.”

“It fits.” Luke glared at him, his chin was lifted in defiance. Mol only rolled his eyes. 

“It doesn’t fit, boy. Let me take your measurements and then I’ll just fix it easy-peasy.”

“What’ll I wear?” 

Mol resisted the urge to scream through great will power and discipline. “Are you telling me?” He took a deep breath, “You don’t have any other clothes?”

“I mean, I’ve got some.” 

“You’ve been stealing Wedge’s clothes, haven’t you?” Mol buried his face in his hands. “This is why the whole base thinks you’re an item.” 

“They fit…mostly and it’s not like Wedge notices.” If the kid wanted to be at all useful as a military commander, he was going to have to get over the habit of defending his habits. “But they’re getting cleaned.” 

“I don’t care.” Mol couldn’t stand another minute of this nonsense. “I’m going to get my sewing kit and when I get back you’re going to get a fitted flight suit.” Cursing and hating the universe in general for dumping him in this hell-hole he stomped back to his own quarters. Mol blamed his husband for teaching him how to sew and fix clothes properly. The man had done it for so many of his uniforms despite his crowded schedule that Mol had felt guilty about it. His husband had agreed to teach him which had then turned into one of the hardest tests of their marriage. Still, Mol knew how to sew now. 

It wasn’t just about getting the kids measurements. Mol wanted to protect Skywalker. He was at least a hundred pounds smaller than most men here and most Alliance troops didn’t mind drooling over the short blond who was fair drowning in fabric so often. Apparently, the bit of skin the suit revealed when it slipped off his shoulder made the mechanics and other pilots go wild. 

Mol had lived through his wedding when the Hapan princess had tried to seduce his husband. Eight different starlets and high-born men and woman flirted with his better half at the wedding banquet. He’d survived a dozen different HoloFilm promotional tours where entire stadium of fans had drooled over his spouse. Mol had seen Lady Tarkin herself flirt with his husband while standing right beside hers and still Mol had never seen so many people frustrated by one person’s obliviousness to flirting. 

Skywalker was sitting on his bed when he returned. He’d adopted a mediation pose and was only dressed in his sweaty shirt and a wrinkled pair of shorts that must have belonged to Hobbie. Mol didn’t think Skywalker owned ones that were patterned with little Imperial cogs. 

“What are you doing?” Mol wondered as he unzipped his sewing kit and pulled out the tape. 

“I’m trying to meditate.” 

“It doesn’t look like it’s going well.” 

Skywalker blew out a huff of frustrated breath and glared at him. “I’m trying.” 

“You can try later.” Mol waved the tape at him, “Stand up so I can get this think fixed. I need your measurements.” Skywalker obliged and when Mol set his hand on his shoulders he added ‘feed him’ to the list of things Ayden would have to do to the kid when they finally go around to capturing him. He hummed the opening theme to his husband’s favorite show as he worked. 

“That’s a nice song.” Skywalker said as Mol measured his neck and then his shoulder. “Where’s it from?”

“Uhh, my home planet.” The Imperial Center.

“What’s it about?” 

“Errr.” Everyone he knew hated that theme song except his husband. It was annoying. It got stuck in their heads and the words were offensive to everyone. “Nothing really.”

“Oh.” Skywalker didn’t press which made Mol grateful beyond belief. He was also grateful the kid didn’t think that it was strange he was now measuring his hands and then his head. (gloves and hats.)

“Do you know anything about being a Jedi, kid?” Mol asked as he picked up the orange flight suit and wrinkled his nose at the smell. 

“Not really,” Skywalker averted his eyes, his sadness weight heavily in the room. “My teacher was killed on the Death Star.” 

“Ah.” Mol awkwardly began turning the thing inside out. “That happens sometimes. My teacher was hit by a bus so…what can you really do.” Skywalker didn’t react to his joke. Bright blond fringe covered the bright blue eyes and when he lifted his head and Mol cringed at the dangerous glint. 

“Just another reason to destroy the Empire.” Skywalker seethed and Mol swallowed his discomfort. 

“Sure thing.” He agreed, “But you can destroy the Empire in better fitting clothes and if you’re looking for Jedi things to do then go for a run in the swamp and see how far and high you can jump. I heard they used to get themselves into dangerous situations just for the sake of testing themselves.”

“Like fending off the remote with blast shield down!” Skywalker jumped to his feet. “That’s a great idea!” 

“What?” 

“Old Ben told me that I just need to trust in the Force. If I go do.” His hands fluttered around as his thoughts were obviously tumbling around without coherency. “I’ve got an idea!” Without a word, he rushed out of the room to whatever lay beyond the base. Mol considered going after him and begrudgingly began to move when he remembered Vader’s explicit orders to keep the boy alive. 

#$#v 

Ayden was just shutting down his station for the night when a message was dropped into his Datapad. Carefully angling it from any of the surveillance cams he opened the message. His eyebrows rose a bit when he read the latest message. 

:Boy impossible. Determined to kill himself through reckless stunts. Went sprinting in a swamp for ‘force training.: Ayden started and blinked rapidly. That was not how force users were supposed to train when they were new to the Force. :Underweight, fatigued.: Ayden could feel the frustration from the agent burning through the metal in his hand. :Please advise.: Here the message ended and Ayden took a moment to work through his own training. He wasn’t proficient by any means but he did know enough techniques to keep him alive and safe. There wasn’t anything the Force could do about recklessness, however. 

#$#$

“It fits great, Peb!” Luke Skywalker brushed his hands over the newly fitted and cleared flight suit, beaming. “Thanks you.” 

“I’m going to do your boots next.” Mol said from the floor where he was resting. “Now that I have your measurements. Don’t anyone want you well-dressed? Wide-eyed hope of the rebellion and you’re wearing cast offs.” 

“I don’t mind.” Luke told him earnestly, still admiring his trim form in the reflecting pool. “Other people need it more than I do.” Mol groaned and pressed his face further into the moss that covered this section of the ruins. “Thank you so much, Peb.”

“Don’t mind me.” Mol told him from the midst of his crisis of faith. Skywalker was Vader’s prize. Skywalker would belong to the Sith one way or the other. No one escaped the man’s grasp. 

Skywalker was too nice to die at that man’s hand. He was too genuine a person that Mol had long since abandoned trying to be for him to condemn. 

“Are you alright, Peb?”

“Just fine.” He managed with a strangled cy. 

“Err. Peb.” The blond moved from the reflecting pool and stepped around the pillars to stop next to the miserable Imperial agent. “Would you mind fixing all of Rogue Squadrons uniforms? You don’t have to,” he explained hastily, “I know it’s difficult work but they’re uniforms don’t really fit and you’ve done such a good job…” 

“I’ll do it.” Mol said immediately. “I’ll do it.” He leveraged himself up and his heart sank to the surface of Imperial Center when Skywalker blessed him with a bright grin. 

“Thank you!”

“Yep. Yep.” Peb watched Skywalker run from the room, calling his Rebel friends. “I am not worthy,” he told a statue of a long dead queen. Her judgmental stone eyes did not grant him absolution. Mol gave the statue a bow before leaving the room as well. 

#$3

“What is this?” Mol, following Vader’s direct orders, kept on the boy. Seated next to the blond while he worked on the newest Imperial defectors uniforms. Not that he blamed the new Rouge. Losing one’s planet was enough to push anyone to the Rebellion. 

“It’s cheesecake.” The Alderanni survivor looked from Luke to Mol, who shrugged. “He doesn’t know?” 

“I’m from Tatooine.” Luke said, poking the wobbly cubes. 

“It’s popular, “Tycho swallowed heavily, “It was popular on Alderaan too. In the Core worlds really.” Luke stopped with his spoon halfway to his mouth. Mol looked up just in time to see concern and a breathtaking expression of compassion cross the weather-beaten features. 

“Hey, Tycho. Have half of this.” Mol viciously ripped the last of the stiches from the orange uniform in his hands. Hating the conversation. “I’m not really used to sweets so I sometimes get sick.” Luke lied. Mol had seen the boy devour sweets like they were going out style. 

“Are you sure, Commander?” The hallow eyed defector asked, hands already reaching for the bowl. 

“Come on,” Luke Skywalker gave the other man a smile and Tycho’s eyes flickered briefly with life. Mol wanted nothing more than to melt into the stone work.

“Thank you, Commander Skywalker.” Tycho nodded and accepted the battered spoon from the shorter rebel. 

#$3

Ayden picked up his datapad as another message came through from the spy in the Rouge Squadron. It had only two words. 

:Likes cheesecake.: 

He forwarded the message to Lord Vader.


End file.
